


the emptiness that we confess;

by kandyrezi



Category: Strange Men (Video Games), The Boogie Man (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Forehead Kisses, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Threats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-03 01:12:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19453318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kandyrezi/pseuds/kandyrezi
Summary: he doesn’t seem particularly bothered with what he’s doing. sometimes you wonder if he’s really human on the inside. if he feels anything at all.





	the emptiness that we confess;

**Author's Note:**

> best boi brendon.

**You s** **it** **on the maroon-colored** couch, prim and proper, hands clasped together and laying in your lap, hardly moving a muscle unless it’s a slight twitch of your fingers or momentarily bouncing your knee, but you don’t dare make a sound to interrupt otherwise. The room is dimly lit, with purple stage lights illuminating him well enough from upper corners of both walls on either side to give glimpse of what he’s doing.

You glance at your captor from time to time, observing him, but your mind keeps wandering everytime you look past him constructing a set for a new scene. You learned questioning him about it would be a fifty-fifty chance of him actually saying what you wanted to know. He does have a knack for playing mind games with people.

He prefers keeping you within his eyesight at all times; meaning you aren’t allowed to roam around too much beyond the first floor of the Livingstone castle.

He had made that abundantly clear when you were caught snooping around way, way higher up above the floor than you were _supposed_ to be. In a small, peculiar room with royal red hues, decorated with stuffed bears and toy boxes, and with a rocking horse in the middle of the room in motionless standby which resembled that of a young girl’s where you found a journal consisting of entries dating back centuries, talking about the natives working as servants at the castle, their horrific deaths that were described as nothing unusual in a mere little girl’s eloquent handwriting.

Not wanting any hand-shaped bruises on your face and locked up in a dark, confined space afterwards for an entire day on end as punishment for insubordination, you haven’t tried anything since.

You break out of your hazy thoughts, jumping slightly when you feel something brush against the skin of your hands. Brendon interlaces your palm with his own, not even having realized he’d moved directly in front of you. He kneels to be on equal eye-level – a little out of the ordinary for him, you think, he must’ve just been in a good mood – grasping your fingers tighter just to be secure with no way for them to accidentally slip from his own, as he brings your knuckles in for a gentle kiss.

“What’s on your mind, _little rabbit_?”

Brendon looks up at you, green irises full of boyish whimsicality; awaiting, _expecting_ a response.

“And _don’t_ lie to me, because I _will_ know when you are.”

A threat masked by sweet voice, almost honeyed if he could be bothered to put more effort into them, but he doesn’t need to, he knows this, and so do you. Sometimes you allow yourself to confuse paranoid concern for genuine affection, as you’re afraid of using any other word to describe this odd dynamic between the two of you.

You swallow a forming lump stuck in your throat, pressing lips into a thin line, keeping your gaze to your right. choosing to stare at the floor is the better choice, you think.

“I was... thinking of you.”

“Oh?”

Smiling maliciously, he separates the warmth intertwined from your hands, but allows them to rest on your legs. He rises from his knees and inches a little bit closer, pressing his mouth against your hairline, uncharacteristically gentle. He’s only ever gentle with the intention to mock you.

You don’t ponder over too much what this is about, before another question that’s plagued over your heart escapes your lips.

“What’ll happen once you get caught?”

He comes to a halt, clearly not what he’d expected to hear. Parting away slowly, he looks at you with a dull expression, like he’s had to explain this to you many times over, like it’s something you’re already _supposed_ to know. Still, he humors you for a bit.

“We’re in the dead of _nowhere_ right now. No one will think to look for those people in a place like this.”

“Maybe they will. You’ll slip up in some way. People like you… they always do.”

“Like _me_?” he pretends to be caught off guard, removing his hand from your limb, having it pressed against the couch behind you with his arm close to your face as he towers over your sitting form, “Have you _met_ many others like me? How would you know?”

You don’t say anything. You have no intentions of trying to amuse him with an answer. Whether or not he’s disappointed by it, it’s hard to tell.

“Already eager to get rid of me, are you? Shouldn’t forget you’re _guilty_ just as much as I am if I’m found out.”

The threats of being found didn’t rattle him any more than you simply stating that it could, in fact, very well happen. He looks more amused than anything at your predicament in this very moment.

“You pressganged me into it, if I recall.” you reply, there’s slight taste of venom in your words. But he either doesn’t care or notice.

“You gave in willingly, _if I recall_.” he responds, using your own words as rebuttal, leaving out the fact he would have killed you, had you _not_ given in willingly. “And that doesn’t matter, there’s no getting out of the rabbit hole you’ve fallen into, I’m afraid. _Not anymore_.”

He turns from you momentarily, gazing at the wall, deep in thought (of something, but it’s often hard to tell).

“You’ve never felt fear in your life, have you? You couldn’t possibly understand what it’s like.”

Your words don’t betray your anger, and then his eyes are are on you again, darkened and brows furrowed, there’s no false mask of serenity on them this time. You can tell you must’ve struck some kind of nerve, unintentional or not, because he steps closer again and your wrist is in his grasp, he holds on tight to make sure you’re feeling the growing pressure of his grip and you wince slightly when you feel nails sink into skin.

“On the contrary, my dear, I’ve felt nothing _but_ fear and uncertainty growing up. Simply, I decided to put the fear into other people’s hearts instead, the kinds of people who really need to understand the pain of not knowing if you’ll make it through another day unscathed.”

He murmurs the words close to your ear.

“You’re stuck with me, and if it comes to it... I’ll take you down _with_ me.”

You’re momentarily frozen in place as his words sink in and he retreats slowly. Then they don’t surprise you as much as they would have a while ago upon getting wrapped into this mess in the first place. There’s little salvation in being saved and left unscathed, the odds are rather low now.

“It’s almost time for dinner,” Brendon says softly, his mood doing a complete one-eighty, in contrast to something potentially sinister just moments before.

Adjusting his jacket, he then casually holds his hand out to you.

“Would you care to accompany me to the kitchen?”

Without much thought, you nod quietly and grasp your slightly shaky hand with his own once again, tugging you forward to stand and go after him.

You glance over before leaving the room at the VHS tapes and a video camera held up by a tripod pointed at the shackles hanging from the stone wall alongside a saw set on a small table next to the cassette player, an automatic barrel gun hanging from the ceiling. Your stomach twists slightly thinking about the undecided, unfortunate soul who’s inevitably going to be the next victim for his collection of snuff films.


End file.
